


i've hungered for your touch

by interstiellar



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Affection, Canon Asexual Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Spoilers for Episode 166, no beta we die like romans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:09:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26084716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interstiellar/pseuds/interstiellar
Summary: Zolf attempts to teach Wilde how to pilot an airship. Things take a turn.
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 10
Kudos: 86





	i've hungered for your touch

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to our lovely little community! How have y'all been? As for me, not a day passes when I don't think about Zolf and Oscar. Must be worms on the brain. 
> 
> Apologies to any sailors reading this fic if I've butchered the art of sailing. In my defense, it's a flying boat.
> 
> Title is from the song Unchained Melody because, well... you'll know. ;)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Wilde looks at him expectantly, mouth twisted into a smug grin. He is very much the picture of the cat who got the cream, and a part of Zolf instinctively wants to wipe it off his face. They’re standing at the helm of the ship with Zolf steering the wheel on the platform, Wilde looking over the levers and rigging at deck level. The bastard clearly is going to see this through. Zolf wanted to push more to the contrary, to say that there was no need for Wilde to be the one to sail if it comes to it, but he couldn’t argue that Wilde’s reasons were sound.

“Right. Do you at least know sailing terms?”

“I confess I never had a reason to keep them in mind.”

Zolf looks at him pointedly as if to say, _All the more reason not to do this then_ but he got nothing in return apart from Wilde’s winning smile. He sighed and started to point at different parts of the ship.

“Here are the basics. We’re at the helm, where the controls are. The back of the boat is called the stern and the bow is the front. When facing the bow, the left is called the port, starboard’s the right. Obviously, the wheel controls which direction you go.” Zolf points to a lever beside him. “You’ll want to keep that up since that controls the sails.” He points to the next lever. “This controls whether the ship goes up or down. You pick which way, push it in that direction, then when you’re satisfied with the height you bring it to the middle.” He gestures towards a series of buttons. “Do not push those buttons at any cost or it’ll release the elementals, leaving us to plummet towards the ground and die. Sounds good?”

Wilde nods. “Easy enough so far.”

Taking one hand off the wheel, Zolf beckoned Wilde to step over the platform. “C’mere then, let’s see you take her for a spin. Keep both hands on the wheel and turn against the direction the ship leans, we want to keep her straight and steady. ”

With only the slightest bit of hesitance, Wilde did so, putting both hands on the wheel as Zolf let go.

The ship immediately veered toward the left, causing Wilde to exclaim in surprise. He turned the wheel to the right but miscalculated how much force to apply, sending the wheel spinning wildly. Cursing under his breath, Zolf slipped under Wilde’s arm and put his hands over his to stop him from further taking them off route.

“When I said ‘take her for a spin’, I didn’t mean to attempt a one-eighty! Here, let me-” With Wilde’s hands still under his, he guides them back on course. “You have to take it slow, feel out the rhythm of the ship. Keep a clear head and you should be fine. For now, I’ll pilot with you until you feel confident enough to take control. That alright?”

He gets no response. Zolf turns his head up toward Wilde’s face. “Wilde?”

Wilde is looking at their hands on the wheel, a pretty blush rising on his cheeks. Zolf, entranced, can’t help but catalogue his minute reactions. The spread of pink towards his ears, the flutter of his eyelashes, the slow parting of his lips as he shifts his gaze towards Zolf and speaks.

“I’d say it's difficult to keep a clear head in this predicament.”

Zolf can feel the rise and fall of each word Wilde speaks behind him. They are standing too close, almost pressed up against one another. Zolf can feel him giving off heat despite the cold rush of wind around them. If he leans back, even with the barest of movement, he can rest his head just below Wilde’s chest. He should move forward, give the man some space. Focus on the task at hand.

He does neither. Instead, he compromises by resolutely turning his head towards the bow, though he adjusts his fingers to fit more comfortably on the spaces between Wilde’s own. It’s a terribly romantic affair, and it dampens his doubts when he hears Wilde give a soft exhale of contentment. He doesn’t have to look back to know that his eyes have slipped closed, his mouth quirked in an easy smile. That’s how Wilde looks in times of quiet joy, and Zolf revels in the knowledge that it's because of him, especially as he feels his own surge of glee bubble forth.

They spend a minute or two in silence, broken only when Wilde murmurs, “I never thought sailing a ship could be so… _charged_ , even with the lightning elementals on board.”

Zolf snorts, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “That was terrible, especially for you.”

Wilde gives a laugh, voice smooth and clear as a bell. “Forgive me, I couldn’t resist.”

This is the closest they’ve gotten to acknowledging their affections aloud, though they’re both acutely aware of it. How could they not, when each conversation, each shared look, hides its unspoken depths?

Zolf gives a smile, soft and secret, before saying, “Must be the air, I don’t think you get enough of it, holed away in your room. If it can be called that. Don’t think I haven’t seen the stacks of papers when I call on you for crew meetings.”

Wilde gives a huff. “Oh, not you too. Hamid has made a routine of chatting with me in the afternoons.” He turns quiet, before adding, “It’s been nice, though a bit draining. I’m not used to holding long conversations apart from, well, with you.”

Gently, Zolf says, “I’m glad. You could be more open to people caring about your well-being, to be honest.” He twists slightly to the side, meeting Wilde’s eyes. “I…worry, you know.”

Wilde doesn’t bother with the _I’m fine_ excuse. They’re a lifetime past that. Instead he nods, replying, “I know. It’s just…I told Hamid what Curie and the others think of me, of us. Of our merry band trying to save the world. It’s a long, _long_ shot, and I’ve just about given up, I suppose.” He turns his head to the side, biting his lip. “If Svalbard is a dead end, we’ve run out of leads to chase. We’d have no hope left in stopping the blue veins.”

“Oscar. Hey, look at me.” Wilde hesitates but he pulls his gaze back. Zolf can see the worry lines creasing his face, and wishes he could take away his fears, lock it in a box and toss it overboard. He can’t though, worrying comes with the job, and goodness knows he has his own. But somebody has to be strong for both of them. Zolf decides Wilde has carried too much weight so it has to be him.

“We will _always_ have hope.” He says this firmly, brooking no argument. “I’m a cleric who doesn’t serve a god, who gets his magic from an unknown well of energy. Every spell I cast, every wound I heal, that’s hope.” Zolf’s tone softens, fond and pleading at the same time. “This might be a bit hypocritical, taking into account the serving no god bit and all. But have faith, Oscar. Have mine.”

Wilde says nothing, though he continues looking at Zolf, searching his eyes. Zolf looks back, as he’d done thousands of times. Whatever Wilde finds there causes him to sigh in concession to Zolf’s will, and he releases the tension he’d been holding. Wryly, he says, “Oh Mr Smith, you are impossible in your stubbornness. And quite persuasive.” He lets his shoulders slump and tilts his body forward, effectively draping on Zolf’s back. He buries his face in his hair, takes a deep breath, and adds, “Thank you.”

Zolf leans back in return, basking in the comfort of being held, and hums in reply.

They carry on like that for a time, until eventually Wilde straightens up and with no small amount of mischief says, “So. What was that about piloting and feeling confident enough to take control?”

Zolf lets his hands go and roars with laughter at Wilde’s indignant squawk.

**Author's Note:**

> I am so scared for the fate of my boy. Please Mr. Newall, Wilde is babey. Zolf's fine 'cause he's got loads of hit points. That is, he should be fine if Ben doesn't get cocky. Oh, God. 
> 
> When I heard Zolf was going to teach Oscar how to fly the ship and my mind immediately went to the 'Ghost' pottery scene, despite not having seen the movie or even a clip of said scene. The file name for this fic is 'ghost pottery scene on an airship' which makes it sound much more dramatic.
> 
> None of my friends listen to tma, much less rqg, so if any on you has a support group for these two idiots I humbly request membership. Or if you don't have anyone to scream to like me, I'm always on twitter @interstiellar.
> 
> Thanks for reading, keep safe!


End file.
